Pornography is to sex ...

... what McDonalds is to food.

An examination of pornography as industrialisation of sex and how it feeds toxic masculinity that actively participates in the vicious cycle of victimisation and sexual violence.



Oh dear ...

Moar shameless self promotion

Recollection of culinary adventure recounted here.

Hehehe.

Shameless self promotion here

Tonight is the night that I got inspired to tickle my keyboard for more tales about my Daddy.

Be a darling and visit my Malay blog and Cowbird.

I'd love to know what you think.

*hugs*

Detachment

Most films about the teaching profession are very positive. A forceful and charismatic teachers lands in a (usually) lousy (inner city, no doubt) school with a class filled with delinquents, lazy jocks, the misunderstood creative outcast, the nerds and the rest of the usual cast of student "archetypes", at least by way of Hollywood scriptwriting. To Sir, With Love is perhaps the most iconic of redemption-of-students-by-saviour-teacher, the formula of which was replicated by films like Stand and Deliver and Dangerous Minds (based on true stories, yeah okay).


I bet there wasn't a dry eye in the cinema by the closing credits.

And then you have Dead Poet Society and the female copycat version Mona Lisa Smile where the teacher inspires the students to think outside the box and abandon the shackles put upon them by the hidebound society that cossets their privileged arses. While most of these movies share a running theme that is mocked by the most cynical as mawkish sentimentality, they do underline an important aspect about the teaching profession: teachers are potential cult leaders.

I'm just kidding.

(the rest is under cut for extreme movie spoilers)

Choosing to be Happy

Yup, it's a choice.



Just adjust your expectations to meet your reality. Easy right?

Not.

*sigh*

Unforeseen hiatus

I have disappeared from posting here for over a month. Was I missed? I would like to think so (narcissist, much?).

My Daddy passed away last month on the third. It was a stunning blow for our family; we took it for granted that he'd live as long as his mother did, his father and his siblings (only two died before hitting sixty). I guess we forgot that all of us were born to die and that there is no promise or contract to let us know how long we have in this world. I have had my Daddy for over thirty five years (he had his for much less, so did my Mum), but I don't think there was ever enough time to have with the people you love, right?

I penned (typed, rather) a little tribute to my Daddy on Cowbird. You can see it here.

Goodbye, Daddy. See you on the other side.